


Pillars (PoETober Day 1)

by Barbedbeat



Category: Pillars of Eternity
Genre: Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-01
Updated: 2018-10-01
Packaged: 2019-07-23 10:23:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16157111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Barbedbeat/pseuds/Barbedbeat
Summary: Ficlet I wrote for day 1 of Rannadylin‘ amazing PoETober prompt list.





	Pillars (PoETober Day 1)

 

 

You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to overcome the fits of nausea that claw at your stomach.  
A voice rings in your skull, its sound coming through in waves as the contours of Sun in Shadows flicker in and out of your vision.  
“Watcher! Watcher, get up!!”  
You fall on your knees, gasping for air as your strength wanes, drained by the surge of essence in your chest.  
You’ve been there before, and you’re there now, another life, another era.   
A shiver wracks you body as visions of both past and present spiral in your mind, locked in a mystifying dance.  
Slowly, you begin losing yourself amidst a maelstrom of memories, and surrender to darkness.  
  
When you wake up, you’re not you anymore.  
Your feet guide you across a crowded square, but you’re oblivious to the migle of smells, colors and people that tug at your senses.  
The pillars that surround the place, chasing each other in their endless race to the sky have entranced your focus.  
You’ve always loved those pillars, and you’ve never passed a chance to admire them on your way to the market.  
Ever since you were a little kid, you’d be enraptured by their sheer size, and the way light glimmers and shines amidst their copper trimmings never ceased to bring a smile upon your face.  
_Adra is truly the Gods’ gift to Kith_ , you find yourself saying.  
You breathe in the morning air, savouring the moment before resuming your walk.   
You navigate the crowd with ease, and soon the familiar façade of Woedica’s Temple permeates your view.    
Plumes of incense greet you as you push its heavy door and step inside.  
You scurry towards the pulpit and quietly slip among the figures gathered around it.  
A voice tickles your eardrums, sending a warm shiver down your spine.  
“Welcome back Acolyte.”  
You raise your head, and you see her. Iovara, clad in her High Priestess robes, beautiful as ever.  
Minutes tick by as you admire her features, taking in every detail.  
Her sermon caresses your mind, gently cradling you into a trance.   
You close your eyes, and the world bleeds away.  
  
Suddenly, the stench of death fills your lungs, and you find yourself in a crypt, towering over  _her_.   
Iovara is not beautiful anymore. She is tied to the wheel, her figure caked with blood and dirt, face a mask of agony.  
The bludgeon is heavy in your fist, and you feel a scream bubbling in your throat.  
You try to choke it, to no avail.  
  
You scream till your throat is raw, till the sound of your own pain pries you out your vision, slamming you back into your own body.  
You lie on the cold stone, shaking, while your companions shout your name.   
Tears stream down your cheeks as you stare through them, numb to their words, too spent to speak.  
You close your eyes once more, and pray.


End file.
